Cancer Has Aged Me!

I used to think I looked young for my age. Others might have actually thought it too, as I got “carded” well into my 30s. Lately though, when I see photos of myself, I notice deep lines that I don’t remember seeing before. It could just be normal aging, I suppose, but that’s the thing about having had breast cancer twice — it changes how you think about everything. When I look at my face, I see the line from the twelfth biopsy, or the splotches from my six months of chemo. And there are new circles under my eyes, the result of the lack of sleep during those years.

I really think the moment you find out you have cancer is a bit like finding out there is no Santa (but worse). Your world grows up in a new and scary way. You lose your innocence, and you have the ability to recognize it in others. Whenever I see someone who I know is going through breast cancer treatment, I try to gauge whether she would want me to say hello or give her a word of encouragement. I am a breast cancer cheerleader of sorts. I want to say, “See my long hair? I was bald in 2002 and most of 2003! Look at me now.” Or I could tell her, “I know this chemo thing is really a drag, but hopefully, you will be cancer-free sometime soon and back to your old life this time next year.”

Not too long ago, I was at the airport and saw a young girl much like me, with a child and the bald head and telltale scarf and hat. “Are you going through chemo?” I inquired. “I had it too. And you are going to be fine.” She thanked me for saying something and told me that it made her feel better. She was almost finished with chemo, then due for surgery and radiation.

It’s a balancing act for me because I really respect people’s privacy. I always try to put myself in their position to see if I would want a stranger to talk to me. Of course, having someone ask me when I was “due” six months after I had given birth and lost all my pregnancy weight reminds me to choose judiciously who I speak to. I spend a lot of time trying to read someone’s energy before I speak out.

I am currently awaiting my follow-up blood work. I always feel the same way while my blood sits in a random lab somewhere reacting to the test: I think I am fine, and I believe there’s no point in wasting energy on worry. I know that whatever the test results say, I will be fine either way. If the cancer has stayed away again (this time I am two and a half years out), I will be extra-grateful. But if it came back, I would fight it, just like I’ve done twice before.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Suzette Lipscomb

Suzette Lipscomb has done the cancer dance twice in her young life. Originally diagnosed with an aggressive form of invasive ductal breast cancer at 36, she endured six long months of chemotherapy and then...read more